


Malaise

by Crab_Lad



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anger, Character Study, Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley gets a hug, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Love Confessions, M/M, References to Depression, Requited Love, Sad, anyway, because he deserves it, does this count as whump?, enjoy, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crab_Lad/pseuds/Crab_Lad
Summary: Loneliness is difficult to handle. Pain and fear and anger only come with it.





	Malaise

**Author's Note:**

> honestly my one excuse was i was sad one day, decided to project on crowley and then made it so much worse. I'm sorry
> 
> it gets gay at the end to make up for it.

**Eden.**

There’s something to be said about loneliness. A feeling that, when introduced, can be soul crushing; not a simple concept to deal with. All it leaves behind is this yearning to belong to something, someone. And it’s not a pleasant thing to conquer. Loneliness, in this sense, is recognizing that you don’t fit in. No matter what you do, you won’t be able to fit cleanly into box A or box B. No matter how good or how evil you are, you settle somewhere in the middle.

That is until you meet someone else. Someone who reminds you of yourself. Someone you feel a connection to that helps you know that you’re _ not alone. _Maybe they’re not at the level you are, but you can see it. It’s there and you snatch onto it, hoping that you can help this person and that this person could help you. 

Crowley felt that way when he first greeted the angel, high on the walls of Eden. For the first time, in all his history, there was someone who he viewed as the same. This peculiar angel, so naïve and pure in his love, was unlike any other angel Crowley had ever faced. It was refreshing to have someone who wasn’t unhinged like the demons or stuck up like the other angels. 

For a short fragment of a time, Crowley held a sense of belonging. For a narrow, miniscule expanse of time, the meeting gave Crowley a grasp of _ home. _

And, at that moment, Crowley started to fall for a second time.

**2197 BC. The Fall of Tower of Babel.**

Another tragedy was to fall upon the humans. This time, all their hard work was to be destroyed, and they were to be spread along the earth, speaking languages that differed. All because they wanted to reach God. It was like the ark all over again; the humans thinking they knew better and only getting in trouble for it. Crowley could empathize with them, they just were curious, and it was that curiosity that caused issues. 

“It is all very tragic, isn’t it?” Crowley asked Aziraphale, the moment he spotted the angel. 

Aziraphale wore a somber look, one similar to the one he had at the Ark, before the Great Flood. 

“I just don’t understand what it’s all for!” 

Still, he received no response. 

With a sigh, he lowered his head. Aziraphale fit more with him than heaven, he was sure. Crowley could tell because of the clear discomfort and uncertainty Aziraphale had at the ark. And here now, too. He just needed to get through heaven’s conditioning.

But he wanted to be careful; he didn’t want to lose the one person who might understand him more than anyone else. The one person he could relate to.

Then Aziraphale spoke up, albeit a bit reluctantly, “I don’t know Crowley. We’re not told anything. If She has decided that this is what’s needed, then it must be for something. It has to be.”

The demon, wisely, didn’t comment on that last part. He was sure now. Aziraphale was different, like him. The only difference was that God had thrown Crowley out because he had spoken up, he hadn’t fallen for their brainwashing.

An angel with wavering faith was dangerous. Crowley wouldn’t be able to bare it if Aziraphale fell. The angel didn’t belong in hell, it would ruin him. If those doubts grew worse...

"I’m sure there’s a reason. Doesn’t seem all that in line with the Almighty if She doesn’t already have something planned,” he conceded glancing over at the angel. 

With a small smile, a reassured one, Aziraphale nodded, “I suppose you’re right.”

**1179 BC. Middle of the Trojan War. Greece. **

Crowley soon realized that he wasn’t truly needed for horrible events. Most of the time, the humans did it themselves. Hell never checked up. So he lied, as demons do, and told them he started it, even if he wanted nothing more than for it to stop. The humans were masters of creating their own destruction; it seemed to be in their nature. It made him question the need for demons. There were many humans that were already demons without the wings and horns. 

It was unlikely, a demon hating suffering and pain. Crowley hated death most of all. It was something else that set him apart from the demons. While they reveled in it, Crowley wanted to hide away until it was over. But he couldn’t, and he didn’t. 

Though, one good thing seemed to come out of these horrific events. Each time he was around one, so was Aziraphale. 

They both found each other inside a pub and got drunk on alcohol. Once they were Well and Truly drunk, Crowley had dragged the angel out to star gaze. It was an attempt to forget the surrounding horror, to focus on something beautiful when everything seemed awful and hopeless.

Neither one spoke, and there was no need to. For they both understood how much the other was hurting, and how much they both just needed each other. To know that something good could still be found.

**Europe. October. 1347. Black Plague.**

It was around this time that Crowley learned the pros of sleeping. It allowed him to lie down and shut off his mind for a long period of time. He didn’t have to live through the tragedies around him. He made friends, but within weeks they died. People who knew him were slowly fading in the background and soon he’d be alone again. Except… he still had Aziraphale. 

They had created the arrangement a little over three hundred years prior, but Aziraphale was still so hesitant to get close to Crowley. It certainly didn’t help that Crowley knew his love was one sided. Aziraphale barely saw him as a friend. 

The Black Plague had ravished Europe. Once more, it left the demon questioning why God let these things happen. Why, why did She have to make them suffer? He couldn’t stand the pain and suffering. So he retreated into the darkness of his mind, with an ache deep in his soul. 

A month later, he was woken up.

“Crowley! Crowley, my dear boy, wake up,” a gentle voice said beside him. 

The demon was dragged, forcefully out of his peaceful unconsciousness. 

“‘Ziraphale?” he asked groggily, sitting up. His red curls spilled over his shoulders and his body ached in a way it hadn’t before. Both his arms and legs felt like lead and his head hurt. The ache that was there in his heart, in his soul, remained. 

“Crowley.”

He looked over to see Aziraphale standing beside him.

“Are you alright?”

Crowley thought the angel had no right to look so concerned after spending so long acting like he didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t important. After the angel had constantly pushed the ‘angel versus demon’ argument. 

“I’ve been trying to contact you for several weeks now. Nothing was going through, and I thought to check up on you.” 

It took a lot of effort just to sit up in bed. He finally understood what people meant when they said they felt old. It held him down, and he couldn’t help but slouch.

“I’m fine, angel.”

He could hear the frown in Aziraphale’s voice, “You’re not.”

The demon didn’t bother with a response, just closing his eyes and leaning his head on his knees. 

But Aziraphale was stubborn, and he wouldn’t let this go. Crowley knew that. But the soft touch on his arm _ was _ unexpected. Looking down, he saw a soft manicured hand holding his wrist gently. The touch tingled up and down his arm, but it didn’t hurt. 

“Dear, please.”

How could he say no to his angel’s face when he looked at him like that? It held a deep sadness that resembled how Crowley felt. It struck him, and he could recognize the pain. 

“Alright.”

And so he explained. The angel never strayed far, and for the first time, the two hugged. 

**1439\. Germany.**

The difference between having someone you can talk to and having someone you can _talk _to is just a level of comfort. There have been many people over the years who Crowley had gotten to know, a few he had felt close enough to tell the truth, but no one, not even Aziraphale got rid of the loneliness. Realistically, it wasn’t something that was going to vanish overnight. He didn’t fit in with Hell, Heaven didn’t want him, humans came and went, and Aziraphale was still _hesitating_. There was still a wall between the two. Crowley couldn’t talk about his fall, couldn’t rant about his beliefs. He couldn’t rage against the injustice of everything without being reprimanded by the angel. 

It was a never-ending pit of despair. To the point where it felt like he’s watching his life happen, but he couldn’t feel _ connected _to most of it. Crowley became numb to a lot of things, internalizing his doubts, his beliefs, and his love. There were some moments that struck him, right down to his core, and he had no choice but to feel something. Little moments where his love would overwhelm him, his anger, his fear, his sadness. 

He had Aziraphale, yes, but his delusions of Heaven blinded the angel. Aziraphale was wrapped up in the conformity of it. The friendship was superficial at first. Then it grew to an acquaintanceship, untill it truly was a friendship. But after that day during the Plague, Crowley noticed that Aziraphale started making the habit to check up on him. 

They no longer went centuries without seeing each other; Instead, they waited years. To humans even years seem long but to beings who never age, never grow old, who have lived as long as time has existed, it’s a lot like a week. 

But it had spread warmth through Crowley, heating up the cold darkness in his soul. It was like falling in love with Aziraphale all over again. He loved seeing that soft smile when the angel came to ask for a favor, a mask for what the visit was.

Crowley wanted to repay the angel for something. It only felt fair after everything. He felt like he owed it to the angel to show how much he appreciated everything Aziraphale started to do for him. He really didn’t have to go out of his way, risk everything, just so they could see each other. Just so Crowley could get a distraction from his pain. 

When he had heard about the printing press circulating around the Chinese area, it had seemed too good to be true. But then Gutenberg, a young German man had taken it and improved it. For the first time, a book was mass produced. 

The first book to be printed on it was a bible which Crowley, by the use of a miracle, had gotten a hold of. The second book to be mass produced he wasn’t as lucky to get the first copy, but he got one from the first print. 

Finally, books stuffed in a box, he made his way to where Aziraphale was currently staying. When he knocked, the door was already opening before he could finish. 

“Crowley! Lovely to see you, dear.”

The angel beamed at him as usual, and Crowley had to fight to keep the corners of his mouth from lifting to reciprocate. Instead, he pulled the box from the folds of his coat. 

“I brought you a gift. Was lurking around Gutenberg and well- managed to get a copy or two.” He tried to make it sound as casual as he could, but he knew Aziraphale would see through it. 

For a second the angel seemed shocked, before taking the box out of Crowley’s hands and gently cradling it. He looked at the demon with awe before reaching forward to pull him into a hug. Crowley didn’t expect it at first, but sunk into it. A little more of the cold melted away in the warmth of the embrace. 

**1971\. Haiti. **

Crowley didn’t interfere with this revolution, but he could sympathize with them. All they wanted was freedom from the people controlling them, enslaving them. They wanted their own rule. 

It made him think of Heaven. Hell might suck, Hell has rules, but they all knew what Heaven was like. As long as you did the evil deeds they gave you, you were allowed individuality. 

It was why Hastur’s wings were an ashy gray, Ligur’s were a mix of reds, yellows and oranges that made them look like fire, why Crowley’s were black. Hell allowed you to dress the way you wanted, be the way you wanted, look the way you wanted as long as you did your job. There were restrictions, however.

But Heaven wasn’t so kind. Aziraphale seemed comfortable in the way Heaven left things, but sometimes he could see the angel longing after longer hair, a dress in some occasions, and even a hair color change. Crowley had asked about it once. Aziraphale hadn’t given a straight answer. 

He was angry, angry at Heaven, angry at Hell. Angry at himself for falling, angry at Aziraphale for not seeing everything that was in front of him. Angry at the world for being so cruel and angry at God for even letting him exist. 

All he wanted was true freedom. Freedom to stay by the angel’s side, to shake the angel out of his stupor. But he couldn’t, it wouldn’t help. If anything trying to force Aziraphale to think the way he did would end horribly and he would risk losing the one thing he needed most. 

So he sat and watched as the people in Haiti overthrew their rulers. If a demonic miracle was used here and there, well, that was no one’s business but his. No one would care if a Haitian somehow overpowered their opponent, guaranteeing a victory for the battle. 

He wasn’t sure where the anger stemmed from. Sure, it was aimed at different things but it had come out of nowhere. He had woken up one day, snappish, furious, angry, sad. Crowley had cried, screamed, cursed, smashed a vase, and brooded. Nothing helped, and so he was here. Finding something to take his anger out on. 

But the fact he didn’t know where it came from upset him even more. He got angry with himself for being angry. Why was he like this? It was pathetic, stupid. He was ridiculous for feeling like this for no reason. It was a downward spiral that led to him curled up against the wall fighting back harsh tears, breaths sharp and fast in his lungs. 

Why couldn’t it stop? Why did he have to feel this way? All he wanted to do was shut his emotions down, shut everything down and stop existing for a while. He just didn’t want to exist. It all felt like a hurricane, a tsunami pulling him under until he couldn’t breathe, drowning him, overwhelming him. He just felt so alone, alone and sad, scared and angry, and nothing felt like it mattered anymore, what was the point of continuing if it was just going to get worse and worse and worseworseworse_ worse everything would just fall apart and he would be helpless to stop it as it all crumbled around him- _

He woke to someone shaking him gently, a voice whispering softly in his ear. A gentle hand on his shoulder, and a calm presence beside him.

“Let’s go, dear, let’s get you home.”

Tired of fighting, tired of trying to do something different, tired of living, existing, continuing, he listened and followed, not sure what else to do. 

**1969\. Stonewall. **

He had spent the past two hundred years in a cold sort of detachment. It was like he had shut off all emotions, shutting off all personal reactions, just going through the motions to keep existing. Looking back, he would compare it to watching a movie of someone else’s life. They leaked through sometimes, leaving him shattered and drunk beyond coherent thought on late nights at his flat. Sometimes, the detachment worried him. He couldn’t force himself to feel things and sometimes he would just wonder _why was he so numb why couldn’t he feel anything why was he so empty. _

He thought the angel would help, and he did only a little, but it wasn’t enough. He passed the years in a haze. Aziraphale’s visits had happened less and less as pressure from Heaven increased, as the world needed more and more divine intervention. 

Stonewall was a major event; he helped spur them on, strive for rebellion and freedom hoping it would help him feel something. Help him see that something good could come from something horrible. 

Out of it came love and admiration. He admired these people who fought for their right to love and be who they are, he admired them for standing up to the system to fight back. People of all kinds sticking up for each other, even if they didn’t really know each other. 

Something in his heart opened, and the feelings came easier. He wasn’t empty. 

**Two weeks post apocalypse. **

There had been too much panic and too much fear for anything else during the apocalypse. 

But they had survived. Thanks to a three hundred and fifty year old prophecy they _ made it. _They were finally free. 

They had parted ways after the Ritz to finish up loose ends before Aziraphale was supposed to meet Crowley at his flat that night. The whole time Crowley was in a panic. Would it be good enough for the angel? What were they going to do? Talk about? What could happen now that Aziraphale understood, now that he knew and saw what Crowley did?

Sooner than he thought, a knock came from the door. Crowley threw a glare at his plants, reminding them what would happen if they didn’t listen, and opened the door.

Immediately, he was tackled into a hug by the angel. They ended up on the floor, Crowley letting out a little ‘oof,’ as his back hit the ground. A miracle saved them from any pain. Aziraphale’s grip was tight, but so full of care and adoration. Helpless to do anything but, Crowley laid down fully against the ground, holding the angel in his arms. They were silent for a while as they lay there, and for the first time in a long time that sense of loneliness started to slip away. 

They were here. They were safe. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered like it was a prayer.

“I love you too,” Crowley responded, tightening his grasp. 

It was everything he ever wanted right there, right that minute. He couldn’t help but feel tears prick at the corner of his eyes. _ He wasn’t alone anymore. _

Lips pressed against his and he returned the kiss, pouring everything he was feeling into it, telling Aziraphale how much the angel meant to him, how beyond happy he was. There was pain lingering in it, years and years of it. But this was the here and now, they needed nothing else. 

Hands slid up to cup his cheeks, holding him like he was delicate, holding him like he was precious. The tears from before fell, dripping down the sides of his face to the floor, but he paid them no mind as the angel pressed soft pecks to the edge of his eyes. Like he was trying to block them. To stop them. 

A body lay over him, a comforting weight reminding him of who he had, what he gained. Reminding him of what he had to lose if he wasn’t careful. Aziraphale was finally within reach, and he was going to cherish his angel as best he could. It was just the bare minimum of what he deserved. 

“I’m here now,” Aziraphale whispered, a gentle kiss placed where Crowley's snake tattoo sat, on the edge of his face below his ear. “I’m here.”

And he was. Finally, he was.

Crowley wiped at his eyes as he slid his other hand to tug gently at Aziraphale’s hair, brushing through and feeling its softness for the first time. “I know,” he said reverently.

Everything would be better now, and he could already start to feel the numbness slip away, replaced by warmth. 

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is goodalexomens feel free to,,, scream at me there


End file.
